


Thermostat

by bloodscout



Series: 18 incredibly impressive ficlets written for the 18th birthday of the frighteningly fabulous fishoutofcustard [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Jumpers, Protective!Mrs. Hudson, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson needs people to stop buying him jumpers. He has enough. He has <em>too</em> many. Is there something about ‘almost fatal arm wound’ that suggests that a jumper is just the thing for it? If so, he would very much like to find out, so he can strike the word or words from the English language so people would <em>stop sending him damn jumpers</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thermostat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucie (fishoutofcustard)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lucie+%28fishoutofcustard%29).



> This is the 14th fic of the 18 fics I wrote for [Lucie's](fishoutofcustard.tumblr.com) 18th birthday. It's not very good but w/e w/e I posted it anyway

Evelyn Hudson worries frequently about those two odd, odd boys in 221b. They were out at all hours of the night with Sherlock’s cases, and often they didn’t have time for any dinner other than takeout. It was horrid, really. They should look after themselves more, strapping young men that they are.

Evelyn brings them tea when she can, leaves biscuits when she can’t. She sends away angry police officers, says ‘the boys aren’t home’, even when they are, and pretends she’s too deaf to hear them when the officers argue.

She is currently very distressed about the fact that neither Sherlock nor John has bothered to fix the thermostat. She doesn’t want to call in someone to do it for them, because they’re two grown men, and needn’t be mollycoddled, but she wishes they’d get some heating before Christmas, lest they freeze.

Evelyn really doesn’t know what to do, until she sees a young couple walking down the street in matching Christmas jumpers.

Perfect.

 

John Watson needs people to stop buying him jumpers. He has enough. He has _too_ many. Is there something about ‘almost fatal arm wound’ that suggests that a jumper is just the thing for it? If so, he would very much like to find out, so he can strike the word or words from the English language so people would _stop sending him damn jumpers_.

He hopes that the two brightly coloured packages on his kitchen counter aren’t jumpers, because he knows eighty-four ways to kill someone with his face.

 

Sherlock takes one look at the packages on his lab bench – his _newly cleaned_ lab bench – and says ‘Mrs. Hudson bought us sweaters.’

He knows without opening them that they are tacky, and scratchy, and won’t go with any of his shirts. He’s displeased, to say the least.

‘Fuck!’ John curses, apropos of nothing.

‘Language, John!’ Mrs. Hudson calls through the floor.

_These people_ , Sherlock thinks to himself, _are absolutely nuts_.


End file.
